


I'll Be Home At Last

by anythingbutplatonic



Category: Glee
Genre: AU, M/M, Mpreg
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-10
Updated: 2015-06-10
Packaged: 2018-04-03 19:09:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,693
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4111830
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/anythingbutplatonic/pseuds/anythingbutplatonic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Summary: Today was a good day to break out of prison. The title comes from “Maybe This Time” from Cabaret. </p><p>Warnings: Mpreg, not-very-graphic sex. Originally posted on Tumblr August 31st 2014.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I'll Be Home At Last

Today, Kurt thought, was a good day to break out of prison.

It wasn’t like the thought had simply come upon him at that moment, as he lay on his hard, regulation mattress in his stiff, regulation prison uniform. He’d been planning this for months and, really, all the signs were pointing towards success. The sun was bright and shining - not that Kurt ever really saw much of it - and he could hear birds chirping outside, nobody had been stabbed or beaten up or poisoned in the past week and a half, and the guard he liked to call Stumpy because of his God-awful limp was finally warming up to him.

Kind of. 

He already had everything he needed. He knew where the keys were to the Warden’s office, and where the keys were in that office to the lockers, where they kept the inmates’ clothes and belongings until they got out. He knew a way out of the building that wouldn’t get him caught on any security cameras or motion sensors, and he had money. He’d stashed away enough to get to New York, which was where he was headed. 

All he had to do now was execute his plan. 

 

Kurt waited until lights out, when everyone else was asleep and the night guards were changing shifts - had a ten-minute window in which to leave the building by the desired exit, pre-planned of course, and make his way to the nearest Greyhound bus station. By the time anyone realized he was gone, he would be halfway to New York, and he didn’t plan on leaving. 

As soon as his fellow inmates’ heavy breathing was the only sound to be heard, Kurt began to carry out his plan. He slipped out of bed as soundlessly as a mouse, lifted his mattress, took out the wad of money he’d carefully hidden, and put it in his uniform pants. He’d transfer it to the clothes he was changing into later. 

Next was the Warden’s office. Get the keys, get to the lockers, open the lockers, get his clothes. There were security cameras outside the office, but he knew how to avoid them; all he needed to do was make sure he didn’t make a single sound. 

In ten minutes, he’d done just that. He had his clothes - the ones he’d been brought to the prison in, about 10 months ago. He’d change as soon as he found the nearest bus station. 

He paused for a moment to actually think about how fucking  _stupid_  the guards at this place were. Here he was, about to fucking  _escape_  from a  _high-security prison_ , and there was no-one around to stop him.

The very idea was so ludicrous, so unbelievable, that he would have laughed if not for the fact that it was one-hundred percent true. 

***

Once he was an hour outside of the prison, he decided he’d have a little fun with the authorities who would, no doubt, be waking up in a few hours to discover him missing. Inconspicuous in pale grey sweatpants, a dark sweatshirt, and battered sneakers - the kind of shoes he would ferociously deny he ever owned, if this were any other situation - Kurt watched the scenery pass him by outside the window of the bus as he plotted his next steps. 

New York, obviously, was the destination. He simply had to get there. It didn’t matter how, but it was important that he did. The Greyhound would take him as far as the border of New York state; he would have to find another way of getting into the city. 

Kurt took out the cheap cellphone he’d bought for $50 on his way to the bus station. It was old, but the number wasn’t listed and his name unregistered, and it had Internet, which was all he really needed. He quickly opened up Twitter, logged in, and found the prison’s handle. He typed a quick message;

_Broke out of @VirginiaStatePrison today. Idiots! #comeandfindme_

Kurt felt an immense satisfaction seeing it written out and posted for all the world to see.  _I broke out of prison!_  They had to know that they couldn’t control him - that if he wanted to, he could get out. And he had.  _Stupid fuckers_. Even with a sentence of fifteen to life for various counts of extortion, embezzlement, drug trafficking, arranging the murders of several of his enemies (though the DA couldn’t prove anything in relation to  _that_  particular charge) and arson, Kurt Hummel couldn’t and wouldn’t be stopped. 

He wasn’t the ringmaster of the Brooklyn-area Mafia for nothing. Or rather, he had been, before he’d been unceremoniously de-throned and lead out of his apartment at three in the morning in handcuffs. 

But that was in the past. So what if he’d ended up in prison? It didn’t have to be the end of his life. 

By the time Kurt reached the end of the line, dawn was breaking; the sky was streaked in orange and pink and grey as he disembarked, pulling up the hood of his sweater against the chill in the early-morning air. He counted his remaining cash. $1500. Enough to get him into the city, to get him where he needed to go. Enough for a couple days’ stay, even, which was what he was counting on. He didn’t just break out of prison for fresh air. He wanted to get as much out of it as he could.  _Freedom_. 

Maybe he would make a few stops along the way, visit his old haunts. For old time’s sake. Or perhaps he wouldn’t.

At 6:31am, he checked his Twitter feed. @ _CNN_  read:  _Breaking News: High-profile mobster escapes from Virginia State Penitentiary_. _  
_

So they’d clocked his absence, probably when he failed to show up at the 5am roll-call along with the rest of the other inmates. He allowed himself a smirk. It would be hours before they even had any idea where he’d gone. And he planned on laying especially low. Besides, the guards at the prison didn’t know their mouths from their assholes. He was counting on their stupidity.

Kurt made the rest of his journey with his head down and his cell out, absently checking social media for any news - or rather, “news” - about his escape. He liked reading what other people said about him, usually because it was wrong, and it made him laugh. Who was paying these people to write? He could do better journalism than that in his sleep, if not for the fact that he was the one usually making the headlines. _Fire breaks out at marijuana farm. Known hitman found dead in car in Queens. Thousands of dollars of heroin and cocaine seized from apartment of well-known mobster._

 The list went on. 

Just before 9:15am, Kurt disembarked for the second and final time, having reached his destination - New York City. He would proceed on foot, to save cash and keep himself inconspicuous and, besides, despite the chill of the early morning, it was shaping up to be quite the beautiful day; blue sky, round yellow sun casting shadows on the sidewalks, street vendors calling to each other as they peddled their wares.

God, he had  _missed_  New York. The towering skyscrapers and the honk of taxi cabs, the smell of tar and metal and so many different kinds of foods that it was almost impossible to distinguish between them.  _  
_

But he didn’t have time to appreciate the city just yet. He had another, and significantly more important, stop to make. 

At 9:31am, Kurt was knocking on the red-painted front door of a small but comfortable apartment just outside of Brooklyn, his heart in his mouth and his palms beginning to sweat. He could, of course, have used the key that was kept under the doormat, or simply picked the lock with the hairpin he always carried in his pocket for that very purpose, but it wouldn’t have been appropriate. Not this time.

Footsteps sounded on the other side of the door, then there was the scrape of a lock being slid open and the jangle of a chain, and then the door was opening and on the other side stood the love of Kurt’s life. 

Blaine. Out of all of the things he missed in prison - a soft mattress, sunlight, edible food - he was the one thing that Kurt had missed the most. And here he was, standing in the doorway in a red sweater and grey slacks with sleep-rumpled hair and huge, disbelieving eyes the colour of whiskey and gold. 

“Hi,” Kurt said shakily, his throat working almost painfully to get out the sounds. “I’m home!”

“You broke out of prison,” Blaine replied slowly, “and you came  _here_? What the fuck, Kurt? Do you have any idea how dangerous that was? And I’d thought I was done worrying about you.”

“I missed you, too.” Kurt said. “God, I missed you. Prison sucks, you know that? I haven’t had an orgasm that wasn’t self-administered in almost a year.”

Then Blaine couldn’t help but laugh wetly, and he continued to laugh until he started to cry, tears streaming down his face with no attempt being made to stop them or wipe them away. 

In one swift move, Kurt crossed the threshold between them, kicking back his foot to shut the door with a  _clang,_ and pulled Blaine into the circle of his arms, inhaling the scent of him, wool and laundry detergent and something sweeter, not quite floral but something else, something more human. He reached between them and smoothed his palms over the round swell of Blaine’s belly. “You’ve got so big since I last saw you.”

“I’ll be twenty-six weeks this Wednesday,” Blaine said proudly. “She kicks a lot. It’s how I know she’s yours. No-one else I know is that demanding.”

“It’s a girl?” Kurt asked. “We’re having a girl?”

Blaine nodded, blinking through the tears that still clung to his eyelashes. “I’ll bring her to visit you. When she’s born."  _When you’re found and inevitably sent back to Virginia_.  _  
_

"I’d like that,” Kurt said, and put his mouth to Blaine’s, kissing him for the first time in a long, long time. It tasted of salt and peppermint toothpaste, but neither Kurt nor Blaine cared. When you haven’t seen someone in a while, everything about them seems thrown into sharp relief, and every little thing about them becomes important. Kurt found himself memorizing the texture of Blaine’s sweater with his hands, the softness of his lips, the shape of his body underneath his clothes now that he had grown and filled out from carrying their child. 

“I want to see you,” Kurt whispered against his mouth, “I want to have sex with you. God, Blaine, it’s been too long…”

Seven months, in fact, almost, to the day when Blaine had visited Kurt at the prison and told him he was pregnant. And before that, when he’d been released for forty-eight hours for his trial. 

Blaine moaned into his mouth and grasped Kurt’s waist tighter, pulling him closer. “Missed you.”

“Bedroom?” Kurt asked, moving from Blaine’s mouth to kiss the sensitive spot at the point where his neck met his shoulder. 

“Yes, please,” Blaine replied. “But just so you know, I, uh, can’t do anything too strenuous.”

“What I have in mind won’t hurt a bit,” said Kurt, smiling against the bare skin of Blaine’s throat. “I promise.”

Taking his hand, Blaine wordlessly led Kurt in the direction of the only bedroom in the small apartment. The curtains were drawn and the room was semi-dark, the pyjamas Blaine wore at night draped over a chair in the corner. It was exactly as Kurt remembered it. 

Blaine sat on the edge of the bed and pulled Kurt with him, craning his neck to kiss him again. Kurt moved his hands from Blaine’s waist to either side of him on the bed, bracketing him, holding him in place. 

They both moved at the same time to take off one another’s clothes, peeling away the layers that hid their bodies. Kurt was glad to discard his old sweatshirt and pants, down to only his boxers as he undressed Blaine, taking his time, drinking in the sight of him as each inch of skin was revealed, smooth and tan and begging to be kissed.

When they were both naked and already semi-hard, half from arousal and half from anticipation, they moved in tandem up the bed, stopping only to arrange themselves into the position that offered them the most closeness, as well as comfort on Blaine’s part. 

It didn’t take long; Kurt fumbled for condoms and lube, prepared himself and Blaine until they were both moaning and starting to sweat, and wasted no time in positioning himself between Blaine’s legs, all the while kissing him, not wanting to let go even for just one second. 

The angle was slightly awkward, and Kurt was wary of hurting Blaine, but his thrusts only drew louder and louder moans and the grip of Blaine’s legs tighter around his waist, signalling him to go  _faster_  and  _harder_. Kurt, for the most part, complied; pulling almost all the way out before pushing back in, as fast as he dared to go, letting Blaine feel every inch of him, drawing it out as long as he could before they were both coming, spent and sticky with sweat, swallowing each other’s panting breaths with more kisses.

“I love you,” Kurt said as he rolled off Blaine and onto his back, linking their fingers together. “I would never get sex like that in prison.”

Blaine smacked his arm playfully. “You would never get sex like that,  _period_ , if it wasn’t for me. And I love you, too. More than anything. More than even my own conscience is telling me I should.”

Kurt propped himself up on one elbow. “Because I’m a wanted criminal?”

“That certainly comes into it.”

“You know I would never, ever hurt you like that, right? I’ve done bad things to people who deserved them, and I’ve done bad things to people who didn’t deserve them, but I would never do anything like that to you, or put you in any kind of danger. Maybe I’m not a good person in the eyes of the law, but I will  _always_  protect you, and our baby.”

Blaine ran his hands over his belly contemplatively. “I hope she turns out like you. Tough. Not taking any crap from anybody else.”

Kurt moved over a few inches and pressed his face into the sweaty skin of Blaine’s neck, humming contentedly. “You’re going to be a great dad, you know,” he said. “Even when I’m not here, you are. And I’m still trying to accept the fact that I’m not going to be around for most of her life - by the time I get out, if I ever do get out, she’ll already be an adult. And she won’t even need me to be her dad any more and I will have missed everything.”

“I still can’t believe you broke out of prison for me,” Blaine said quietly, running his fingers through the fine strands of Kurt’s hair. “It was stupid, but I’m so, so glad you did.”

“I’ve had worse,” Kurt replied. “I thought it was worth the risk.”

“How long do you think it’ll be before they find you?” He didn’t need to specify who  _they_  was. The FBI had probably already been dispatched on his trail. 

“Forty-eight hours, maybe seventy-two. Could be up to a week, if they’re as incompetent as they always have been. But until then, you have me. I’m not leaving here unless it’s in a pair of handcuffs. I’m not leaving you.”

Blaine’s skin was soft, warm, and damp with sweat. He could hear him breathing in his ear, as gentle as the rush of wind through the leaves, and could see the slow, rhythmic rise and fall of his chest. 

He was exactly where he belonged. Not in prison, not even in his own apartment in New York, but right here, with Blaine, and with their unborn child. 

He was home.


End file.
